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translation, and Mr. Richardson the son faw another at Florence in manuscript, by the learned Abbé Salvini, who translated Addison's Cato into Italian. One William Hog or Hogæus translated Paradise Loft, Pa. radise Regain'd, and Samson Agonistes, into Latin verse, in 1690; but his version is very unworthy of the originals. There is a better translation of the Paradise Lost by Mr. Thomas Power, Fellow of Trinitycollege, Cambridge, the first book of which was printed in 1691, and the rest in inanufcript is in the library of that college. The learned Dr. Trapp has also published a translation into Latin verse; and the world is in expectation of another, that will surpass all the rest, by Mr. William Dobson of New-college, Oxford, So that, by one means or other, Milton is now consi. dered as an English claffic ; and the Paradise Loft is generally esteemed the noblest and most sublime of modern poems, and equal at least to the best of the ancient; the honour of this country, and the envy and admiration of all others !

In 1670 Milton published his History of Britain, that part effecially now called England. He began it above twenty years before, but was frequently interrupted by other avocations; and he deligned to have brought it down to his own times, but stopt at the Norman conquest; for indeed he was not well able to pursue it any further by reason of his blindness, and he was engaged in other more delightful studies, having a genius turned for poetry rather than history. Bp. Kennet begins his complete history of England with this work of Milton, as being the best draught, the clearest and most authentic account of those early times; and his style is freer and easier than in most of his other works, more plain and simple, less figurative and metaphori. cal, and better suited to the nature of history, has enough of the Latin turn and idiom to give it an air of antiquity, and sometimes rises to a surprising dignity and majesty.

In 1670 his Paradise Regain'd and Samson Agonist were licensed together, but were not published till the year following. The first thought of Paradise Regain'd

was

was owing to Elwood the Quaker: When Milton had. lent him the manuscript of Paradise Loft at St, Giles Chalfont, and he returned it, Milton asked him how he liked it, and what he thought of it? “ Which I. “ modeftly, but freely told him," says Elwood; " and “ after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly “ faid to him, Thou hast said much of Paradise Lost, s but what halt thou to say of l'aradise Found ? He “ made me no answer, but fat some time in a muse;. “ then broke off that discourse, and fell upon another“ fubje&t." When Elwood afterwards awaited upon him in London, Milton showed him his Paradise Re. gain’d, and in a pleasant tone said to him, “. This is , “ owing to you, for you put it into my head by the " question you put me at Chalfont, which before I. had not thought of.” This poem. has also been: tranflated into French, together with some other pieces of Milton, Lycidas, L’Alegro, Il Penferoso, and the Ode on Christ's nativity. In 1732 was printed a cri. tical differtation with notes upon Paradise Regain'd, pointing out the beauties of it, written by Mr. Meadowcourt; Cànon of Worcester : And the

very

learn ed and ingenious Mr. Jortin has added some observations upon this work at the end of his excellent remarks upon Spenser, published in 1734 : And indeed this poem of Milton, to be more admired, needs only to be better known. His Samson Agonistes is the only tragedy that he has finished, though he has sketched out the plans of several, and proposed the subjects of more, in his manuscript preserved in Trinity college library. We may suppose that he was determined to the choice. of this particular subject by the fimilitude of his own circumstances to those of Samson, blind and among the Philistines,; and it seems to be the last of his poetical pieces. It has been brought upon the stage in the form of an oratorio ; and Mr. Handel's mufic is never employed to greater advantage, than when it is adapteed to Milton's words. That great artist has done equal justice to our Author's L'Allegro and Il Penserofo, as if the fame fpirit poflefled both masters, and as if the god of mulie and of verse was ftill one and the fame.

There

There are also some other pieces of Milton, for he continued publishing to the latt. In 1672 he publithed Artis Ingica plenior inftitutio ad Petri Rami methodum concinnata, An institution of logic after the method of Petrus Ramus; and the year following, A treatise of true religion, and the best means to prevent the growth of Popery, which had greatly increased through the connivance of the King, and the more open encouragement of the Duke of York; and the same year his poems, which had been printed in 1645, were reprinted with the addition of several others. His faniiliar epistles and some academical exercises, Epistolarum familiarum, lib. I. et prolupones quædam oratoria in collegio Cbrifti habite, were printed in 1674 ; as was also his translation out of Latin into English of the Poles, declaration concerning the election of their King John III, setting forth the virtues and merits of that prince. He wrote also a brief history of Muscovy, collected from the relations of several travellers ; but it was not printed till after his death in 1682. He had likewise his state-letters transcribed at the request of the Danish resident; but neither were they printed till after his death in 1676, and were translated into Englith in 1694. To that translation a Life of Milton was prefixed by his nephew Mr. Edward Philips; and at the end of that life his excellent fonnets to Fairfax, Cromwell, Sir Henry Vane, and Cyriac Skinner on his blindness, were first printed. Besides these works which were published, he wrote a system of divinity, which Mr. Toland says was in the hands of his friend Cyriac Skinner; but where at present, is uncertain. And Mr. Philips says, that he had prepared for the prefs an answer to some little fcribbling quack in London, who had written a fcurrilous libel against him : But whether by the diffuafion of friends, as thinking him a fellow not worth his notice, or for what other cause Mr. Philips knoweth not, this answer was never published. And indeed the best vindicator of him and his writings hath been Time. Posterity hath univerfally paid that honour to his merits, which was denied him by great part of his contemporaries.

After

1

After a life thus spent in study and labours for the public, he died of the gout at his house in BunhillRow, on or about the icth of November 1674, when he had within a month completed the fixty-fixth year of his age. It is not known when he was first attacked by the gout; but he was grievously afflicted with it several of the last years of his life, and was weakened to such a degree, that he died without a groan, and those in the room perceived not when he expired. His body was decently interred near that of his father, who had died very aged about the year 1647, in the chancel of the church of St. Giles's, Cripplegate; and all his great and Icarned friends in London, not without a frendly concourse of the common people, paid their last respects in attending it to the grave. It does not appear, that any monument was erected to his memory, till 1737, in which one was erected in Westminster-abbey by Auditor Benson. But the best monu nent of hin, is his writings.

In his youth he was estee ned extremely handsome; so that while he was a student at Cambridge, he was called the lady of Christ's college. He had a very fine kin and freth complexion ; his hair was of a light brown, and parted on the foretop hung down in curls waving upon his thoulders; his features were exact and regular; his voice agreeable and musical; his habit clean and neat; his deportment erect and manly. He was middle-fized and well proportioned, neither tali nor short, neither too lean nor too corpulent, trong and active in his younger years; and though afflicted with frequent headachs, blindness, and gout, was yet a comely and well looking man to the lalt His eyes were of a light blue colour, and from the first are faid to have been none of the brightest; but after he loft the fight of them, (which happened about the 43d year of his age), they fill appeared without spot or blemish, and at first view, and at a little distance, it was not easy to know that he was blind. But there is the less need to be particular in the description of his person, as the idea of his face and countenance is pretty well known from the numerous prints, pictures,

busts,

busts, medals, and other representations which have been made of him.

In his way of living he was an example of fobriety and temperance. He was very sparing in the use of wine or strong liquors of any kind. Let meaner poets make use of such expedients to raise their fancy, and kindle their imagination. He wanted not any artificial fpirits ; he had a natural fire, and poetic warmth enough of his own. He was likewise very abstemious in his diet, not faftidiously nice or delicate in the choice of his dishes, but content with any thing that was molt in seafon, or easiest to be procured, eating and drinking (according to the distinction of the philofopher) that he might live, and not living that he might eat and drink. So that probably his gout descended by inheritance from one or other of his parents ; or if it was of his own acquiring, it must have been owing to his studious and sedentary life. And yet he delighted fometimes in walking and using exercise, but we hear nothing of his riding or hunting. Having learned to fence, he was such a master of his sword, that he was not afraid of resenting an'affront from any man. Before he lost his sight, his principal recreation was the exercise of his arms; but after he was confined by age and blindness, he had a machine to swing in for the preservation of his health. In his youth he was accustomed to fit up late at his studies, and seldom went to bed before midnight; but afterwards, finding it to be the ruin of his eyes, and looking on this cultom as very pernicious to health at any time, he ufed to go to rest early, seldom later than nine; and would be stirring in the summer at four, and in the winter at five in the morning; but if he was not disposed to rise at his usual hours, he still did not lie fleeping, but had some bedy or other by his bedside to read to him. At his first rising he had usually a chapter read to him out of the Hebrew Bible'; and he commonly studied all the morning till twelve, then used fome exercise for an hour, afterwards dined, and after dinner played on the organ, and either sung himself or made his wife fing, who (he faid) had a good voice but no ear: then

he

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